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Marked
BY: Sidhe*** The sea had washed them up nearly
an hour ago, as limp and
bedraggled as the seaweed that was strewn across the shore. Will had scarcely moved since then, Jack's head pillowed on his numb legs, his fingers tangled possessively in a lock of Jack's hair, as if that alone would keep the pirate anchored to this world. The jagged wound on Jack's temple was a vivid streak of crimson against his desperately pale skin. He was too still. It was unnatural, for Jack Sparrow's only movement to be the brief rise and fall of his chest. Will was suddenly gripped by the sudden urge to leave some kind of a mark on Jack, so that the pirate would have been changed, however slightly, just by his acquaintance of Will. Because Will had found himself changed beyond recall since he had met the man. No longer an unfinished blade, but now a tempered sword. No longer shining with a child's innocent love, but now burning with a man's fierce desire. And Will did not think he could bear it if they parted with Jack having no more of an impression of him than of another wave in the ocean. He wanted to colour Jack's skin with his own design, trace eloquent patterns over his body. He wanted to take Jack's stick of kohl, and use it not only to outline the pirate's eyes, but to run its velvet tip over the sweep of Jack's cheekbone, down his curve of his neck, to finish in the hollow of his throat. He wanted to leave a mark which might wash off the skin, but would remain imprinted on the spirit. It was about curiosity, to wonder how Jack would be with Will's mark upon him. Would he hold himself differently? Feel differently? Would he grin a little less sardonically? It was about sorcery, to hope that it might persuade Jack to remember him, think of him, perhaps even desire him. It was about possession, to know that wherever Jack went, however far he strayed, he would always carry a little bit of Will with him. But Jack's life was already etched into his very being. Tattoos stood out in stark relief against his clammy skin. Here, a bird soaring before a sunburst. There, a seven-pointed start guarded by a mermaid. Will ran a reverent hand over the intricate designs. Jack's skin was smooth except for where scars marred it. Some of the scars were old and faint, others deep and unfading. Will's touch grew gentle as he traced them with a finger. The story of Jack Sparrow, he mused. The tattoos were the legend which Jack had helped to grow around himself; the scars were the truths that lay beneath. There was not a part of him that did not have some story to tell, some claim form an earlier time. His hair was twisted and braided, adorned with curious trinkets from foreign lands. There were rings on his fingers, which had always flashed hypnotically as he stalked. They were stilled, now. Even his eyes were darkly lined with kohl, keeping the light out, masking the man beneath. Will sighed. There was no room in Jack for a simple blacksmith. No way he could add something new to the experienced pirate's life. Jack had tattoos enough, scars enough, adornments enough. It had been a foolish notion, to hope that by leaving a marking of his own on Jack, that he might capture a bit of the pirate in return. But something ached inside him at the thought of never having known Jack more intimately than their history had allowed them. Will leant down, and captured Jack's mouth with his own, kissing him with soft and bashful tenderness. Jack tasted of rum, and salt, and an exotic spice he could not identify. Will savoured the taste, greedy to know more of Jack in case he would never have the chance again. But the faint answering flush that rose in Jack's cheeks showed that Will had marked him in his own way, after all. ~End~ |
